


And All The King's Men

by CaptainKaysno



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Gen, Phil is a Bad Dad, Protective Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wilbur Soot being a good brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainKaysno/pseuds/CaptainKaysno
Summary: anon asks: hurt/no comfort Phil being a bad dad thanksIt’s the week after Wilbur’s twelve birthday that it finally sinks in that Phil will never love him or Tommy as much as he loves Technoblade.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 61
Kudos: 1016





	And All The King's Men

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt from anon which reads: hurt/no comfort Phil being a bad dad thanks
> 
> huge shout out to my friends who were so helpful to me through this!

It’s the week after Wilbur’s twelve birthday that it finally sinks in that Phil will never love him or Tommy as much as he loves Technoblade. 

Wilbur had noticed the favoritism before, of course he had. 

He have to be blind not to see the way that sparring practices were never missed, enchanting lessons planned out weeks in advance, and custom armor was ordered for the warrior son while Wilbur’s interests were pushed to the side with an absent smile and a ‘ _I’m busy, son. You can go do that by yourself right_?” 

Tommy’s first steps had been overlooked for the new way that Techno could enchant a blade. Wilbur’s last noteblock project had been torn down to make way for a spider farm so that Techno could learn the best way to kill them. (Wilbur had been strictly forbidden from going anywhere near it.) 

It’s just that fateful night when they’re having dinner together. The table quiet as each of them eat their fill until Phil interrupts the silence. 

“Me and Techno are going on a trip to the city.” Phil says.

The words hang in the air for a long moment until Wilbur can comprehend them. 

“A trip?” Wilbur asks, staring at his older brother who stares impassively back at him. He sets his fork onto his plate, his appetite gone. “For how long?”

“Just a week or so,” Phil reassures him, “Nothing to worry about, mate. I’ve got everything stocked up for you and Tommy.”

Wilbur’s fingernails embedded themselves into his palms. “When are you leaving?” he demands.

Phil frowns, “As early in tomorrow morning as we can.” 

“You’re joking.” Wilbur demands, his blood ringing in his ears. “This week is the week when you were supposed to be taking me to Icemeet to get me a guitar.”

The table goes still. Technoblade blinks for the first time in minutes, Tommy pauses in his efforts to make some kind of ball out of his mashed potatoes. Wilbur vibrates in his seat. 

A flare of strangled guilt rises in Phil’s eyes, “I - Oh fuck. Yeah that’s - that just slipped my mind, mate.”

Wilbur waits for one of them to offer to postpone their trip. He waits for somebody to apologize. Phil hurriedly takes a bite of his fish, looks over at Techno with pleading eyes.

“This isn’t something that can be reworked, Wilbur.” Technoblade offers, after a long silence. “I’m sorry.” “I - Whatever,” Wilbur says, pushing his plate away and scooping Tommy up into his arms. “I’m going to get Tommy to bed.”

He does exactly that giving the toddler a bath, a bedtime story, and a few lullabies until finally he falls asleep. Then because Wilbur really doesn’t want to talk to the rest of his family he puts himself to bed. He lies there awake, staring out of his window into the darkness. A few times footsteps stop by the closed door. Once the door handle turns slightly like somebody is about to come in. Hope builds in his chest until he hears footsteps continue down the hallway. If he cries himself to sleep then it’s nobody business but his own. 

*

Wilbur wakes up to the sound of something moving around in the kitchen. The first rays of lights are just entering his bedroom window and Wilbur stumbles out of bed. He’s a few steps into the hallway when a cacophony of noises explodes. Then a few seconds later the sound of Tommy wailing. 

He _races_ to the kitchen, his heart in his throat as he turns the corner to find Tommy sitting on the floor holding his head with both of his hands. His screaming has barely lessened to hoarse cries. Two wooden bowls lay at his feet, a few steps over there are several cooper plates and a pan laying on the floor. 

Wilbur drops to his knees in front of his brother and frantically tries to move Tommy’s hands. It only makes the toddler scream even louder. 

“Let me see, Tommy!” he finally snaps, “Let me see!” 

Tommy’s noise level move down considerably as he seems to realize that Wilbur is there. His hands move off his head so he can reach out for a hug. 

“Hold on,” Wilbur mutters, as gently runs his fingers across Tommy’s forehead to check for any bumps. Tommy sniffles and Wilbur gathers him into his lap. “What happened?”

Tommy shakes his head, “Owie.” 

“Looks like one,” Wilbur says, “You got a headache now?”

Tommy shakes his head. He’d been over the moon when he’d realized that even when he didn’t want to talk - which was oh so rare - he could still say his favorite word. After a few moments he squirms himself into a more comfortable position.

Wilbur takes a few shaking breaths, closing his eyes as his heart slowly calms into a normal rhythm. Tommy starts to push away from him and Wilbur lets him move out of his arms. 

“Hungry, Wilby.” Tommy says,his eyes wide and pleading. 

“Let’s get something together then,” Wilbur answers, standing up and holding out a hand. “How about something easy for today?”

He convinces Tommy into the front room where he immediately starts playing with one of the blocks that Phil had carved for him. How long had he been awake? Where were Techno and Phil?

He’s pulling on a cloak to go and see if they might be outside when he spies the note laid out by the backdoor. He already knows what it’s going to say but he reads it anyway. 

‘ _Wilbur,_

_Me and Technoblade are heading out. We’ve already taken care of all the animals. Eggs and Milk are by the door. Be good and look after your brother. We’ll be home on Saturday at the lastest._

_Love Phil_.’

Wilbur crumples the note in his fist. Tommy squeals out a laugh in the living room.

Of course, he thinks bitterly, of course. 

*

The next few days pass in a bit of a blur. If he’d thought that taking care of Tommy before had been tiring, now it was just exhausting without Phil or Techno there to take at least some amount of interest. 

That plus all of the chores that he was pulling to keep the house in working order. Water drawn in from the well, animals to look after, taking care of the garden, and the dishes, and the cooking. A fire that needs to be carefully looked after to ward off the early fall chill and a Tommy that is constantly there chattering away and getting the way at every turn. 

By the third night when Tommy screams at any attempt to get him to go to sleep Wilbur’s on the way to wishing for death. 

After he finally gets his younger brother to sleep, he crawls into his bed and expects to fall asleep immediately. Instead two hours later he’s still staring out into the darkness and wishing for his father and brother to come back home. 

The fourth night is when he takes a good hard look at himself and the situation that he’s found himself in. Tommy had woken up from a nightmare and had wailed until Wilbur had carried him back to his room and let him sleep with him. Wilbur wishes that he could resent him. He thinks that maybe if Tommy wasn’t a factor then he could’ve gone with them. A neighbor could’ve been paid to take care of the house, the animals, and garden while they were gone. He thinks about it and then just as quickly comes to the realisation that it would’ve have made any difference. Tommy could’ve just as easily been left with somebody. There were always people in the nearest town cooing over his blond curls and blue eyes and sweet nature. Anybody would’ve been willing to take him in for a week.

If Phil and Techno had wanted him to go then Wilbur would’ve gone. It really is that simple. 

It leaves only one logical answer.

Wilbur is the problem. The common denominator in this equation of three. He simply can’t compete with Techno. 

At some point that hadn’t been a problem, he knows. He can remember when he and Techno had been much closer than the awkward silences and half-stilted conversations then the ones that they had now. He remembers when Phil had so much more time for him and his smiles were bright when they’d been directed at him instead of an absented minded twitch of the lips.

When had Phil realized that he had a mistake of a middle child? When had he realized that Wilbur wouldn’t be good for much more than staying at home and taking care of his youngest brother?

He tries again to figure out if maybe that had been Tommy’s fault. Tommy who had been placed on their doorstep with a note that read only the name _Theseus_ and how old the baby hidden behind blankets was. 

Had he shown too much interest in him at first? Gleefully declaring him Tommy when Techno had remarked that it was a big name for a small thing and carefully paying attention to help care for him. 

If he had then that was only him to blame. 

*

Thursday is when Wilbur decides that he’s going to make his own guitar. There’s no way that it’ll be done before Phil and Techno make it back but it feels important to at least start on it. He doesn’t need Phil to take him to get something that he can make himself. (Maybe. Maybe Phil will be impressed by it. He’s always loved the self-sufficient.) He throws himself into it with gusto, staring at pictures of guitars anytime he can. Graphing out the bare essentials needed for it. 

Tommy is taking a nap when Wilbur sneaks away to cut a box out of wood. He thinks that he’ll try and paint it yellow. His name carved into the side so everybody will know that he did it. 

He thinks about putting his handprint right onto the back of it. 

For the first time in days he grins more for his sake then Tommy’s. 

*

Sunday passes by without a trace of his father or brother. He keeps up the routine, refuses to let Tommy know that he’s worrying. 

He stays up the whole night tending the fire. A way to make sure that if they’d somehow gotten lost on the mountainous slope towards their house then they would still be able to make out the smoke. 

When the sun peeks over the horizon he has to admit defeat. 

That day it’s harder to distract Tommy for the tenseness that is trying to knot Wilbur’s shoulders together. He takes him for a walk and lets him take as much time as he wants, an uncommon luxury that Tommy takes full advantage of. 

Every few steps he picks up a new rock and hands it to Wilbur who inspects them carefully, 

“Pretty color,” he observes for one. 

“Good for skipping,” he compliments another.

Each compliment has Tommy nodding solemnly back to him. This goes on until Tommy starts getting tired and then cranky and Wilbur ends up having to give him a piggyback ride back. 

He carefully inspects the trail back for any trace of them. He has to bite back panic when doesn’t find one. 

Dinner is a rationed affair of scrambled eggs. 

Most of it ends up on the floor anyway.

*

Monday night passes by. His guitar is almost usable now, all the wooden pieces made. Now he has to make the strings. The sun is still hours away from coming up. Tommy’s door is locked and there’s no way that the kid would wake up before he absolutely had to. 

He knows exactly what he’s going to use to make his strings. The wooden swords that Wilbur still practices with don’t do shit to kill a spider before it’ll maul you even with Phil’s careful design. He grabs an iron sword out of Phil’s personal trunk and walks out with confidence. 

Only a few will need to die for them and if Wilbur’s being completely honest there are almost certainly string somewhere. If not in the house then in the storage compound that Phil had built years ago. 

This is more about a statement though. If Phil and Techno are going to leave him alone then he’ll follow whatever damn rules he pleases. 

He doesn’t really know how many spiders he kills that night. More than he needs, enough that the sword is dented and showered in the black blood of the spiders. 

He has more than enough string. 

On the way back with the full moon and his lantern guiding him he picks a flower that reminds him of Techno’s pink hair and entangles it with a yellow dandelion. A blue flower the color of Tommy’s eyes quickly follows. 

He never can find the right shade of green to intertwine with them.

*

Tommy is the only one there to hear the first chord that he plays on his little makeshift guitar. It’s far out of tune and Wilbur flinches at the noise. 

Tommy shrieks back a happy laugh in reply. 

Wilbur strums another off key note, watching his little brother fall into hysterics. 

“I’ll get it together,” Wilbur says, “Just you wait and learn.”

Tommy laughs again, “No!” 

Wilbur plays a slightly more in tune cord and Tommy huffs a breathless giggle.

“You wanna help me decorate this thing, Toms?” 

The rest of the afternoon they do just that. The two of them opening up the various dyes that Phil has laying around and doing whatever they want to the guitar but break it. 

Tommy’s little hand prints are all over it and Wilbur lets him. It seems only right, to be honest, the two of them sitting here together while Phil and Techno do whatever it is that they’re doing. 

“We’re having more fun then Dad and Techno isn’t that right, Toms?”

“Yes!” Tommy shouts, his eyes gleaming and a wide smile lighting up his face, “I having fun.”

“I’m having fun too,” Wilbur says, surprised when he means it.

*

Phil and Techno arrive back home just after he’s put Tommy to bed. Neither of them are hurt, Techno has a new netherite chestplate that absolutely _hums_ with magic. 

They both collapse onto the sofa with identical sighs. 

“Did something happen on the way home?” Wilbur asks, anxiously wringing his hands together. 

“The weather is hitting early this year,” Phil explains, “We had to go around the pass. Added a few extra days.”

The room falls back into silence. Wilbur seems the only one who seems to realize how uncomfortable it is. It’s been less than a week and a half since they left but Wilbur suddenly realizes that he hadn’t actually missed them that much. Tommy hadn’t even asked where they were. 

He almost resents the way that they’ve come back in and reinserted themselves into the house again. 

“How’d it go?” Techno asks, it takes a second to realize that he’s talking to Wilbur. “Is Tommy still alive?”

It’s a joke. It’s a mean joke but Wilbur laughs when Phil does. 

“Tommy’s good! You know he -”

Techno waves a hand, “Don’t care, actually.” he says with a grin. Phil laughs and Wilbur forces a smile. Techno pulls himself out of the couch, “I’m going to bed. It’ll be nice to have my own room again.”

“I’m going to bed too, actually,” Phil says, yawning into the back of his hand. He gently pets Wilbur’s hair - just for a moment, _not long enough_ \- and then he’s walking out of the front room as well. 

Wilbur - with a lack of anything else to do - goes to bed as well. 

There’s a book of songs on his bed. He carefully tucks into his bookshelf with a small smile. (He hopes that they got Tommy something.) 

*

Wilbur wakes up to wailing from the next room, Tommy having another nightmare or maybe the small lantern had gone out again. 

He pulls himself out of bed and shuffles into the toddler’s room. The door is slightly ajar and when he peeks through he sees Phil desperately trying to calm the toddler. 

“Hey,” he says, voice pitched far too high, “It’s alright, Toms. You’re alright, mate.”

Jealousy burns bright through Wilbur’s chest and he quietly pads into the room. 

“What’s going on?” he asks.

Tommy hears his voice and reaches for him from the confines of Phil’s arms. Wilbur pulls him into his arms so that Tommy can sob on his shoulder.

“You doing alright, Tommy?” he asks, “What happened this time?”

“Bad monster,” Tommy hiccups, his little hands twisting in his shirt, “Not teeth.”

The teeth stealing monster, yeah, Wilbur’s already vowed to never forgive Sclatt for that little joke. 

“What I’ve told you about the teeth monster?” Wilbur says, walking back across the hallway so he can put Tommy in his bed. “It can’t hurt you if one of us is here. I’ll just yell and yell to make it go away.”

Tommy nods, “Za gives owie.”

“Dadza will kill it,” Wilbur agrees, “and Technoblade will make sure that it never comes back.”

Tommy rubs at his eyes. He won’t be able to go back to sleep without some warm milk and another few lullabies. 

“Do you mind warming up some milk?” Wilbur asks Phil. 

Phli nods, vanishing towards the kitchen while Wilbur mutters soothing words and rubs Tommy’s back. He’s back and Tommy drinks the small cup of warm milk until he’s blinking sleepily up at them. 

“Sl’p with you?” he asks, eyes going wide so he’ll get what he wants. 

Phil frowns, “You should really go back to bed - “

“That’s fine, Toms.” Wilbur says, gently tucking him behind him. “You want a song first?”

“Please,” Tommy says, putting his thumb in his mouth. 

Wilbur grabs his guitar from the under the bed, pulls it into his lap. Phil looks like he’s ready to say something but instead he retreats to the doorway, he doesn’t look impressed as Wilbur sings Tommy a sing his fingers slipping on every other note. 

Tommy goes to sleep as easy as anything though. Wilbur huffs out a sigh, leans back against the headboard. 

“I didn’t think that Tommy was having nightmares,” Phil says. 

“He’s been having them since you two left,” Wilbur answers tiredly. He thought that when they got back he’s be able to sleep the night. His own fault maybe for being so naive. 

“Oh,” Phil says, reaching up to scratch at the back of his head. He changes the subject quickly, “You made yourself a guitar? That’s pretty impressive.” 

“I did.” Wilbur confirms, holding it out so that Phil can see it more clearly. Phil gives it a courtesy glance, a forming smile turning into pure bewilderment at the paint before Wilbur tucks it protectively back into his lap. 

The room falls back into silence. Phil checks his watch, offers a stilted question, “When do you want to go get the proper one? In a couple of weeks?”

The question _stings._ Hours and hours of work for a guitar that barely works but has Tommy and Wilbur’s fingerprints and handprints all over it. Hours and hours of work for a guitar only to receive Phil’s scorn. 

Wilbur hums non-committedly, his knuckles are white. “Maybe later.” 

He hopes that Phil can hear the ‘Never.’ 

“Alright,” Phil finally says after a long moment. He looks very tired standing in the doorway but Wilbur can’t imagine that he looks much better. Tommy lets out a mumbled half-word behind him, kicks against his back. “I - Goodnight, Wil.”

Wilbur softly strums something on the guitar and doesn’t answer. 

_‘Me_ ,’ he thinks as Phil closes the door, ‘ _The problem has always been me_.’ 

**Author's Note:**

> if you'd like to prompt me then you can go here: https://sleepy-bois-incorporated.tumblr.com/ask
> 
> If you liked this please leave a comment and a kudos! it means the world <3 thanks!


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